


he who wanders is not lost

by jomlette



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bullying, Crying, Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, Redemption, Sort Of, Time Travel, i will live and die by this trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomlette/pseuds/jomlette
Summary: The hotel succeeds, and heaven is less than pleased. In order for her friends to be redeemed, Charlie must witness the darkest moments from their lives."Are you willing to put those words to action, Miss Magne?" The angel takes Charlie's jaw in her hand and pulls them eye to eye. "Would you vouch for these demons, even with the knowledge of their previous sins?"
Relationships: Charlie Magne & Everyone, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 45
Kudos: 225





	1. calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! i've consumed fic at an unsustainable rate, and now i gotta start making the fic i wish to read.
> 
> additional tags will be added in each chapter.
> 
> EDIT: a lot of elements of this fic are inspired by @razzled9's fanart, in particular [this comic.](https://razzled9.tumblr.com/post/189364582687/even-as-i-drag-myself-through)

_we're afraid of monsters / but we are the monsters / and in theory / we're all running / from ourselves_

_r.h. sin, algedonic_

* * *

The hotel is quiet once again, but this time it's not because of a lack of business. One could say it's because of _too much_ business.

Charlie had to hand to him, despite his selfish intentions for backing the hotel, Alastor did indeed follow through with his promises to help. Funding and advertisement were given to her project in large quantities, and he even landed her another interview on 666 News. His presence warded off any more stabbing remarks from Katie Killjoy, and he provided some backup vocals during her second song. Their harmonization still gives her pleasant shivers.

It may have been due to the Radio Demon's intriguing change in public image that brought demons to the hotel, but Charlie chooses to believe it's because of her impeccable high note in her solo. Regardless, she convinced most of the crowd to stay as patrons, and as the months passed, she was pleased to see rehabilitation was working.

And so came redemption.

In her dreams, she imagined the sounds of harps and trumpets as the angels offered their hand to her redeemed patrons, whisking them away on a cloud and into the sky. In reality, when heaven deemed a demon ready for the transfer, said demon faded into holy light, leaving behind nothing but a heavenly note confirming the demon's arrival upstairs. It prompted happy tears from Charlie and stunned silence from the rest of the staff all the same. After that, more demons put faith into her program and checked into the hotel. 

Presently, the hotel's last patron of the season just burst into light a few hours prior, and that brings with it a familiar lull. Redemptions happen so fast now that the hotel has more checkouts than it does check ins. This isn't the first time the hotel literally ran out of willing demons to rehabilitate. As expected, not all of hell's residents desire to become better people, and she's come to accept that. Some demons see no need to make it to heaven now that hell's more spacious.

New sinners manifest daily, however, and she guesses they'll have a week of vacancy before the next wave of patrons come knocking at their doors.

In the meantime, she can have a moment to relax.

Niffty and Husk are seated at the bar, cards in hand. Upon closer inspection she sees they're playing Go Fish, and giggles when she notices Husk holding his cards at an angle so that their reflection off the bottles behind him are blatantly visible to Niffty.

"Do you have a six of clubs?" she asks while eyeing the bottle of bourbon.

"Oh no, ya got me again," Husk hands over the card without prompting, voice monotone but said with a grin. 

"That's three in a row now!" she's short enough to stand on the bar stool, barely the height of Husk's tophat, and bounces excitedly as she files the pair of cards away. There's at least ten pairs by her side. "Are you sure you're not just letting the lady win?"

"Me? Throw away a game? Absolutely not," he replies.

As Charlie plops herself down on the lobby, two familiar voices reach her ears, and she turns to see Alastor and Vaggie entering the hotel.

"Vaggie, Al! Where have you two been? It feels like I haven't seen you all day," she pulls Vaggie in for a kiss on the cheek as the duo approach her. Alastor gives a hearty laugh.

"Missed us already? I'm flattered," he remains standing, arms gesticulating. "We were in town scoping out some possible specimens for the hotel, but it appears that there are no willing contenders."

"I had to stop him from dragging a man back here," Vaggie added dryly.

"Dragging is such a severe way of putting it. I lightly suggested he come try our program."

"You tried severing his hand off."

"Only because he tried grabbing you inappropriately in front of me, my dear!"

Charlie stifles a laugh at their banter. If you told Charlie from a few years earlier that her girlfriend and the Radio Demon would be swapping jabs and remarks like old friends do, she would've called you crazy. She isn't sure when they started getting along. She figures it happened sometime after Vaggie nearly speared him at their first dinner as a group, but before Alastor got her a new set of ribbons for Christmas (or as close to Christmas as Charlie could replicate. Holidays in hell are strange, as Vaggie's told her).

A sound of a bell brings her out of her thoughts. Angel steps out of the elevator across the room adorned in a pink silk robe and makes a beeline for the bar. 

"You guys started playing without me?" he gasps dramatically, "How rude."

"That's what happens when you spend two hours getting ready," Husk retorts as he makes a set of cards for him anyways.

"It's called self care bitch, you should try it with me sometime," Angel says it with a smile and waves off the offered cards. Husk's amused huff is the only indicator the two aren't actually about to scuffle, something Charlie had to learn over time. Angel instead saunters over to the sofa, taking a seat on her right.

It's slow times like these when Charlie can step back and marvel at how far they've come. To her, it was only a blink ago when they first met, barely more than strangers stepping on each other's toes, held together by a dream and flimsy debts. Now, she can't imagine running the hotel with anyone else. With Vaggie's hand in hers, Angel's arm wrapped around her shoulders, Husk and Niffty's antics in the background, and Alastor playing a gentle tune replacing his usual radio static, she almost melts into the cushions.

That is, until the soft jazz in the air comes to a screeching halt. 

"Al?" she sits back up and peers up at him. His ears twitch, searching for a sound she can't hear.

"We have visitors," he says, smile going stiff.

"That's weird, they don't usually come this early."

"Not patrons, my dear."

The front doors swing open, ushering in lights so bright she involuntarily turns away. She feels Vaggie and Angel get up from the couch, and she moves to do the same. Opening her eyes, she sees two figures standing in the centre of the lobby.

"Oh! Uh, angels!" She cringes at how her voice ends high, but how else she supposed to react to two _angels_ stepping foot into her hotel? "Um, wow, what a pleasure to see you guys up close! I don't think we received a notice for your visit… was this a planned appointment? Please excuse the mess here, we weren't expecting company!"

"Charlotte Magne, I presume?" The shorter one asks, though she shouldn't really call her short. She towers over angel, and she barely comes up to her partner's shoulder height. 

Processing the question, Charlie nods. "It's Charlie actually," she corrects, though her comment passes unacknowledged.

"Huh, it's more run down than I imagined," the taller angel scans the room, clicking his tongue in disappointment, "although, I guess that's to be expected from something hellborne."

She can't help but deflate a little at the comment. Turning her head to Vaggie, she realizes how tense her friends are. Husk's fur stands on end, one wing guarded around Niffty. Vaggie's one flick of the wrist away from summoning a spear, and Angel's manifested his third pair of arms. She doesn't need to look at Alastor to know he's one edge as well, judging by the growing radio static in her ears. 

It's to be expected, she muses. Angels only ever come down on Extermination Day, but this is obviously a business trip! They're here because of the hotel's success...a shining realization hits her. Charlie bounds up excitedly to the angels.

"I know why you're here! My friends--you're here to take them up to heaven right? 'Cause they've been redeemed?"

A second of silence follows her query before the angels burst out into antagonistic laughter. 

"She's serious, isn't she?" The taller one forces out between breaths. "What a riot!"

"Alright, that's enough." Vaggie's legs step into Charlie's sight, set pointedly on the carpet floor. "If you're not here because we've been redeemed, then why _are_ you here?"

"Ah, it speaks. For a moment I thought you were all mutes." The taller angel steps forward, and Charlie doesn't miss how Vaggie's breath hitches. "You were close, Princess. We're actually here for inspection. You see, your little project has been garnering attention upstairs, and not the good kind. Too many of you hellish cretins have made it up there, so we've been sent to make sure your methods are legitimate, so to speak."

"Legitimate?"

"What my partner here is trying to say is that we believe your business is a fluke, Miss Magne." The shorter angel intercepts."Redemption should be impossible for you lot of bottom dwellers."

"And that is where you'd be wrong!" The clack of Alastor's shoes barely register over the static. "All our redemptions have been achieved through honest work. No one is more surprised than I am for this outcome, I assure you."

"Redemption is impossible _especially_ for you, Radio Demon." The shorter angel sneers.

Something in Alastor changes at that remark. Charlie thinks there might be a glint in his eye, or maybe his smile is more forced than usual. The overwhelming static is gone in a blink, leaving gaping silence, not even the white noise that comes when he sleeps. 

"From the moment I dropped into Hell, I knew my soul could never be saved." Alastor grips his mic stand so hard that Charlie thinks it might break. "So do not attempt to rile me up with such sentiment."

"Aw, did we hit a sore spot? Did the hotel raise your hopes?" The taller demon dips his head to meet Alastor's gaze, barely an inch of distance between them. Charlie's almost impressed Alastor remains in place, knowing the man isn't fond of close proximity he doesn't initiate. "Don't worry, at least you'll be damned with your so called friends."

Charlie sees the dials before he moves, but she's too late to stop Alastor from clawing at the angel. 

In an instant, they have Alastor pinned on his front side on the floor, arms behind his back, angelic swords at his throat. the taller one strokes his ear gently, contrasting the death grip he has on the rest of Alastor's skull.

"Watch yourself, _fawn_ ," he growls out, "remember your place."

Immediately, spears and guns are summoned. Husk flanks Charlie's right, and even Niffty has grabbed an empty beer bottle in her hand.

"Guys, don't..!" The words die in Charlie's mouth when the reflection of the holy weapons hits her eye. The sudden crack of hardwood beneath Alastor's head couldn't be missed, the taller angel unrelenting with the pressure. Her hands ball into unsure fists, and she meets the gaze of the shorter angel, silently pleading.

There's a second where both parties stand motionless, watching the other side like hawks. A sigh breaks the tension.

"That confirms it, then." The shorter angel retracts her sword, her partner following suit. Alastor springs back up from the floor, though he doesn't attempt another attack. 

"Confirms what?" Husk growls out.

"None of you are worthy of entering heaven, that much was made obvious by this display," she waves a flimsy hand in their direction, "You hell folk are all the same, pathetic sinners grasping at threads. I can applaud your determination, at least, but it's useless to try to rejuvenate something rotten to the core." She gives them a mocking smile. "Thank you for your time. We'll be sure to tell our boss to reject any future redemptions from this establishment, and to blacklist your names specifically from our records."

They turn to leave as quickly as they came. Niffty reaches her hand towards Alastor but is quickly shrugged off. A trickle of blood runs down his forehead, catching on his toothy grimace. 

"I'm fine," Alastor expertly evades Angel's hands, ignoring his cry of, "No the fuck you're not! You're bleeding!", and Vaggie's reprimanding, "Why the hell did you think attacking an angel head on would work?".

Their noise fades into the background for Charlie, staring intently at the angels' retreating backs. Their final words echo in her head, _none of you are worthy, pathetic sinners, rotten to the core_. Before she can restrain herself, the words escape from her mouth.

"You're wrong!"

Vaggie's scolding behind her comes to a halt, and she can feel their panicked looks on her without turning around. The angels stop in their pace, the taller one whipping his head around.

"About what, Princess?" he taunts.

Charlie takes a breath, and another. The flame of anger in herself only grows. 

"About everything. You're wrong about everything." Her steps feel heavy as she staggers forward. "You say my friends are unworthy of heaven's gates, but why? Just because they tried defending Al? Because they pulled a gun on you after you put a sword to Al's neck?" She stands directly in front of them, glaring up to their glowing eyes. "Every demon here who succeeds in changing themselves for the better deserves to go to heaven, and that includes my friends. It includes Alastor!" she jabs a finger into the shorter one's chest.

"I will never stop trying to redeem them. I'll choose to try over and over again if I had to. Nothing you say or do can make me stop believing in their worth."

Neither angel reacts at first, but soon enough the taller one leans down, invading her space like he did with Alastor. Like previously, she wills herself not to shuffle back. It almost hurts being so close to a holy creature. The holy light makes her skin sting.

"You're so sincere it makes me want to vomit," he spits out. Thankfully, the angel raises back up to full height, sharing a conspiratory grin with his partner. "'Over and over again', you say?"

"Are you willing to put those words to action, Miss Magne?" The shorter one takes Charlie's jaw in her hand and pulls them eye to eye. "Would you vouch for these demons, even with the knowledge of their previous sins?"

The answer rolls easily off her tongue. "Yes."

"Let the fun begin, then!" The taller angel claps his hands as Charlie is abruptly shoved away. The momentum swings her back around, and she's steadied by Vaggie's arms. "If you win, we'll bring your buddies up top. That's a holy promise!"

A ball of light emerges from the angels' hands, condensing smaller and smaller until it fits snug between the thumb and finger of the shorter one. She raises her hand, and Charlie realizes too late what's about to occur. 

"Wait a minute--!"

The angel snaps, and suddenly there's nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: it's just an introductory chapter to get the ball rolling, let's keep it short and sim-- 
> 
> also me: 2.5K OR DEATH. ALASTOR MUST BE HURT.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @[jomlette](https://jomlette.tumblr.com/) if that's something ur into


	2. oh, sinnerman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once exam week is over, i'll be faster with the updates! for now, i hope you enjoy.
> 
> this fic (and this chapter especially) takes inspiration from @razzled9's comic on tumblr. once i get onto a computer i'll link it. EDIT: [here's the comic!](https://razzled9.tumblr.com/post/189364582687/even-as-i-drag-myself-through)
> 
> warnings: lots of blood, brief description of vomit (not very graphic, but still present!)

Where there was nothing suddenly becomes everything, overwhelmingly so.

Charlie first registers her new wardrobe change. The stiffer material of the skirt hangs heavy on her waist, ending a few inches above her knee, weighing her down uncomfortably in a way her dress pants typically don't. Her shirt and bowtie are also gone, replaced with a sweater vest and blue ribbon. 

Secondly, she registers that she's  _ not  _ in hell.

By nature, hell doesn't have educational institutes, but the building she's in matches up strongly with Vaggie's descriptions of a high school in the living world. In fact, it fits her words almost to a T. Off gray walls, long symmetrical hallways, and a crooked math pun kitten poster beside a grimy water fountain. 

Squinting, the poster even has the exact same pun Vaggie often complained about:  _ "Work hard, study hard, and your math will be purr-fect!" _ . 

Okay. That isn't suspicious at all.

She whips her head around at the sound of a faint creak. The halls are deserted aside from her, yet another creak pierces the quiet. Between her and the sound is a classroom door, window covered by black paper, blocking her from peering inside. 

Wringing one hand in the ruffles of her skirt, she hesitantly places her other hand on the chipped door handle. It turns easily in her grip.

She's pleasantly surprised by a familiar scent reaching her nose, until she makes the connection that the sickly aroma is fresh blood. Puddles of it. The blood squelches under her black flats, splashing up and staining the white fabric around her ankles red. While the room is dark, enough light from the hall spills in for Charlie to see the gruesome sight.

A girl-- _ \- human girl _ \--- sits impassively on the bloodied floor, face splattered with red specks. Her bangs cover most of her left side, but it's obvious her left eye is wounded, blood flowing like tears down her cheek.

She's the only one alive, as far as Charlie can tell, with the bodies of three other humans completely still, no sign of breathing. While her colour is different, there's no mistaking those striped stockings or pink ribbon for anyone else. 

_ Vaggie _ .

"Vaggie?" She hates how her voice comes out so weak, but it's enough for Vaggie to snap out of her trance. All at once the girl begins to shake, tremors present in her accelerating breath. She stands, pointing the box cutter at Charlie.

"Hey, it's me…" Charlie holds her hands out, "it's me, Charlie. Stop!" Vaggie lunges at her, blade nearly taking her eye out as Charlie slams the door shut. 

Her eyes close without her permission, mind reeling. "Vaggie…"

The smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of rustling paper fill her senses. She opens her eyes and finds herself in another dimly lit room.

Looking down, her outfit has morphed once more, body now adorning a white blouse, different ribbon and longer skirt that ended below her knee. It's a better outfit than before, she supposes. 

In front of her, a bleach blond young man sits on a desk naked from the waist down, counting the cash in his hand and paying no attention to the older man slumped beside him, skull shattered from a single gunshot wound. 

"Angel Dust?" She immediately regrets voicing her presence as Angel stiffens, cocking the pistol at her. 

"Oh my," he grins unapologetically, "talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, toots!"

The gunshot deafens her, even with her hands covering her ears. Her stomach turns, like she's falling, and feels herself land on her back into straw. 

It's brighter, the tent she's in. Charlie would've been comforted by the light if it wasn't coming from the eagerly spreading flames feeding themselves on the tent's fabric. Coughing, she blindly stumbles out, falling face first into the mud.

Gunshots are all around her, disorienting and terrifying, with men shouting and screaming in language she can vaguely pinpoint as Vietnamese. 

Smearing the mud out of her eyes, Charlie's unable to find her footing in the mud, and lays helpless to the massacre around her. War is no stranger to her, but seeing humans who've yet to be judged, ruthlessly slaughtering their own is disturbing, for a lack of better words. 

A shove from behind sends her sprawling on her side, and before she can react a boot makes contact with her stomach, forcing the air out of her.

"You don't look Asian," the soldier says, voice recognizably gruff, "but y'don't look like any American gal I've seen before."

"Hrgh," Charlie wheezes. Husk pays her no mind, reloading his gun. His face is calm, bored even. The fire around them casts him under a halo, accentuating his frown lines.

"Sorry, lady. Orders are orders." He presses the tip of the gun into her forehead, and she's too weak for any sort of protest. 

Her eyes stay strained on the gun, and now that they're open she witnesses the world around her ripple, like someone cast a stone into water, taking the brown hues of the mud and changing them to a pristine white. Husk's figure disappears with his gun, thankfully. The mud on her clothes are gone, now a cleaning maid's uniform as a replacement. 

The living room she's in is immaculate, not a single speck of dust to be seen. It's easy enough to deduce who's making the ruffling noise down the hall. As the noise starts to approach, Charlie heaves herself behind the arm of the sofa, peeking her head around to see. Her torso protests the movement, still tender from Husk's kick.

A shorter Asian woman wearing the same maid uniform staggers into the open space, arms filled with valuables. From her close proximity Charlie can decipher her mutters.

"Make it clean, make it clean," Niffty chants under her breath, placing the items into a duffle bag. A golden hoop bracelet misses the bag, rolling towards the sofa and stopping just in front of Charlie. She locks eyes with Niffty.

"Oh gosh!" Niffty whisper shouts, "I thought I told the rest of the staff to take it easy tonight."

"Uh, I thought you'd need the extra help?" Charlie plays along, throwing herself to her feet and wiping off imaginary dirt. "Looks like you've got everything under control, so I'll be on my way--"

"No no, don't be like that!" she smiles sweetly. "Now that you've seen me, I can't let you go." Niffty grabs Charlie's wrist in a death grip, producing from her apron pocket a damp cloth. "Sweet dreams!" 

She shoves the cloth over Charlie's nose, giving her a swift jab at her already injured side, causing Charlie to gasp in pain. The smell of something sweet is the last thing she senses before she collapses. 

Rather than soft carpet, she lands on hard asphalt, a familiar irony zest in the air. The soft jingle from a radio nearby fills her with instant fear.

She's afraid to open her eyes, knowing there's only one man who'd murder to a tune.

It's worse than she imagined.

Eyes wide at the figure standing above her, panic rises from her stomach to her chest, suffocating her. She can't breathe. She can't  _ breathe _ . The man's grin widens into a smile, contorting his manic expression to something inhuman. Her body seizes, paralyzed by the wave of pure  _ malice _ radiating from the figure.

"Darling…"

She can't breathe.

She can't see.

She can't--

_ "Alastor!" _

Charlie keels over, emptying the lunch out of her stomach. She coughs once, twice, wiping the remaining spit away with her sleeve. Her sleeve! Blinking the tears away, she's greeted by her red jacket sleeve and the carpet floor of the hotel lobby, no blood in sight. A cold laugh breaks her out of her relief, the situation flooding back into her memory.

"Gross, what a mess you've made," the taller angel makes a disgusted face, and with a snap the bile is removed, "And the game hasn't even started."

Vaggie, Angel, everyone-- back in their regular demon forms, lay scattered where they once stood, as if they just suddenly collapsed. With what remains of her strength, Charlie shuffles over to them, placing herself protectively between them and the angels.

She's powerless against heavenly creatures, just as her father is, and knowing this she doesn't waste breath begging them to leave. "What game is this exactly?"

"It's as you said, Princess," the shorter explains gleefully, "you claim you'd redeem as many times as it takes. Think of this game as an insurance, of sorts," she summons five balls of light, "Be witness to their crimes. Be their judge. Place them on the right path. And once you forgive them,  _ truly  _ forgive them--- we  _ will _ know if you're lying--- then we'll consider keeping this visit off record." She makes a dismissing motion with her hand, and the lights disappear.

"No, that's not enough," Charlie challenges, "When I win, you're gonna let them go to heaven, like they deserve."

The angel raises a brow. "A deal like that needs proper compensation, your highness."

"If I lose…" she isn't going to lose, she refuses to, "...if I lose, I'll let you exterminate me."

"When you lose, we'll exterminate you all." The taller angel interjects, tone flat. "There. Game on. Full deal." He whisks a small white hourglass into existence, turning it over onto the nearby table. "You got until all the light makes it to the bottom. Good luck, or whatever!"

And like that, the angels disappear, leaving Charlie stunned and exhausted.

She lets out a defeated breath, but gives herself a light slap on both sides of her face. Charlie spends the first ten minutes rearranging everyone into more comfortable positions on their backs. She moves Vaggie last, having a hard time looking at her face without remembering the  _ fear _ in her eyes. 

She dares one last look at the hourglass. Barely any of the light has moved downwards. That's good. That means she has plenty of time to figure out what to do. 

The angels didn't give her any kind of instructions, so she gently takes Vaggie's hand in hers, closing her eyes, imagining the walls of the school. Imagining the water fountain, the poster, the…no. Not the blood. Before the blood, before the box cutter, before the disaster.

She feels the room change around her, and she opens her eyes. 

The game is set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: charlie learns more about her girlfriend


	3. a familiar shape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while. a lot of things have happened since january, so let's catch y'all up on where i'm at with this:
> 
> i want to continue this story, and i will! but with how unpredictable my creative steam is, and how unpredictable life is right now in general, i can't say for sure how long updates will be. but i said i'd give a happy ending, and i'll see to it that it happens. this story is a comfort of mine, and i'd love to share it with you guys :)
> 
> i wanted to condense each character storyline to one chapter each for the ~aesthetic~ but that's unsustainable lmao, so that's why the predicted chapter count has changed. 
> 
> also, this is a vaggie friendly story. due to recent events in fandom i feel the need to emphasize this. spread love guys!
> 
> stay safe, stay loving. oh and BLACK LIVES MATTER. always have, always will. 
> 
> now onto the chapter!
> 
> warnings: bullying

Humans are strange.

At first glance in the mirror, nothing is too drastically different about her appearance. But that porcelain complexion of hers has turned a peachier hue, the yellow sclera of her eyes brightened to a fairer white, and the blush on her cheeks more subdued. And human ears! She can't figure out what's going on with them. 

Human culture is strange as well, albeit more pleasant. There's no need to watch her back for a knife-- metaphorically and literally-- while she strolls down the hall. She’s heard more students say “excuse me” and “please” and “thank you” within the past five minutes than she ever heard demons in a month. 

The world around her has created a perfect pocket for her to occupy. She awoke in a bathroom stall with a backpack, containing her class schedule and notebooks she’ll presumably need throughout the day. No one bats an eye when she walks into her first class, sitting down at the nearest desk. Some even offer a friendly wave. A group of girls in the back snicker, but that's awfully tame in comparison. 

Charlie pulls out a notebook and scribbles. 

Within the few years of knowing her, Vaggie has revealed bits and pieces of her previous life. Small things, like her old scented cinnamon candles in her room, how her neighbor always got up early on Saturdays to mow his lawn, her favourite local clothing store. But not the big things, never the big things. The circumstances of her death were told to Charlie through a hushed whisper and stubborn tears, and even then her details were minimal. 

But she knows enough. Enough to do  _ something _ , she knows for sure. All she needs to do is--

“Excuse me, I think you're in my seat?"

That voice, that voice Charlie's all but melded into her mind. The voice, however unusually polite and reserved, she'd recognize even in a noisy crowd, much more a low volume classroom. When Charlie looks up, she nearly tears up right then and there.

No blood, no panic. The same brown haired girl, bangs masking half her face, smiling neutrally, oblivious to Charlie's growing urge to engulf her in a hug. 

Vaggie. 

"Sorry Va--vagatha," Charlie trips as she gets up and out of her seat, saved from stumbling by Vaggie's arm. The unexpected contact makes her flinch, and she doesn't miss how Vaggie wilts at the negative reaction. Her guilt is barely beaten by her growing embarrassment. "I'll take this seat right over here then. Sorry again! Must've forgotten the seating plan, hah." She ends awkwardly.

"Um, yeah, thanks." Vaggie's perplexed look smooths itself back into a neutral one as she sits down and pulls out headphones. 

Well, their first meeting could've gone better, but it also could've gone much worse! Her fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to tap Vaggie, but a bell rings and the teacher walks in, shushing the classroom to begin the day. 

It's English class. Thirty seconds into the lesson, Charlie realizes her notebooks are void of any sort of writing, and ten seconds after that she's completely zoned out. Naturally, her gaze falls back to the brunette beside her, who's engrossed in the teacher's ramblings, pencil moving smoothly across her pages. Affection bubbles out of her, manifesting into a dopey smile. 

She's always been diligent, both in life and death. Her habit of twirling her hair with the end of her pencil has remained the same, Charlie notices. 

"...this project is due in one month." The teacher--- Mrs. Albany? Abba? Charlie hadn't bothered to learn it--- knocks her ruler on the board, punctuating the date, the tenth of April, in bold marker. "Aside from today, most of the work is to be done outside class. You will be working in partners or groups of three, no more, no less."

Some students sigh in relief, immediately grouping themselves together, while others cautiously ask if she'll be picking their partners. Unexpectedly, Vaggie's arm shoots up.

"Mrs. Abbadon," Vaggie's voice rings loud, controlled and clear, "Can I work alone?"

"What did I  _ just _ say, Vagatha? Partners or groups of three, no more,  _ no less. _ " Mrs. Abbadon answers sternly. "This kind of isolating behavior hurts your participation mark, I hope you realize that."

While she doesn't respond, from Charlie's side view she can see Vaggie dig her nails into her skirt. Their classmates' laughter doesn't help the embarrassed blush rising to her face. 

Within a minute, everyone in the class has more or less formed their own bubbles, some more productive than others. Charlie hasn't moved from her desk, partly because she doesn't know anyone else in the room aside from Vaggie, and partly because she hasn't gotten the slightest clue what the project is. It doesn't escape her notice that Vaggie's still at her desk as well, just as partnerless as she is. 

Hm. An opportunity.

"Hey Vagatha," she says while tapping her shoulder, "wanna be partners?"

"Huh?" As if she'd been pulled out a trance, Vaggie jolts and turns her head. "You wanna be partners with me?" 

"Yeah! I mean, I think everyone else's been taken at this point, it's just the two of us left."

Her shoulders slump ever so slightly, Charlie doesn't know what for, but Vaggie nods affirmatively and she soon sets them to work.

The project seems to be a reflection of sorts. Using any sources of text they choose, including song lyrics and movie scripts, they must build a collage representing personal character, and make a written paper explaining their collage, a thousand words minimum. Charlie may have never gone to a human school before, but the project sounded pretty doable alone. 

Turns out, they won't be making collages of themselves. They'll be making collages based off of their partner.

"This'll be a breeze," Charlie comments.

"A breeze? I barely even know you," Vaggie mutters, before her eyes widen. "Ah, that was rude. Sorry." 

"Hey, no offense taken!" Charlie forces out a laugh. Despite knowing this isn't necessarily  _ her _ Vaggie, the cold statement still hurts her heart. "Maybe we could get to know each other better. Are you doing anything during lunch?"

No matter how much she tries, the smile on her face just doesn't feel natural. The meekness is wrong. The timidness is  _ wrong _ . 

Those feelings of  _ wrong wrong wrong  _ don’t go away when Vaggie agrees to meet up later.

* * *

“The food…” Charlie struggles, “... is good?”

“You think so?” Vaggie asks, brow raised in surprise. 

No, of all the terms in her vernacular, good is the least applicable. The food scraps in hell look more appetizing than the taste of… whatever Charlie is putting in her mouth. Mashed potatoes, if she were to hazard a guess. So no, it’s far from good, but what else is she supposed to say? Vaggie wasn’t a chatterbox most days in Hell, but at least she wasn’t as stilted as this version of her is right now!

Then again, the Vaggie she knows isn’t awkwardly polite and reserved either. This one is on the cusp of adulthood, so Charlie can’t use immaturity as an excuse. What happened between now and her death day?

She gets an inkling of an answer fairly quick. 

Vaggie doesn’t notice a group of girls walking by as she grabs her food tray and moves out of her seat, bumping shoulders with the nearest one. The girl’s drink jostles in her hand, staining the front of her uniform. 

“Shit,” Vaggie immediately grabs a napkin, “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry.”

Her apology doesn’t do much to temper the girl’s visible anger. Charlie watches the exchange happen in slow motion, unsure of how to act. The girl slaps the napkin away, stepping into Vaggie’s space and stabs a finger accusingly into her chest. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna dry this stain,” she scowls, squaring her shoulders while Vaggie slumps hers. “Do you have any idea how expensive this fabric is?” 

“I--”

“Oh wait, you probably don’t.” She interrupts, smiling cruelly. It’s obvious how she looks Vaggie up and down, judging her worn out uniform in comparison to her own, which Charlie now sees to be made of a different cloth than most of the students she’s seen. “Stay out of my way. I don’t think you’d be able to afford the price of my judgement, raggedy bitch.”

The girl turns, laughs with the other girls with her, and walks away. Vaggie’s blank without an expression, but the minute twitch in her hand says otherwise. Charlie’s stumped to see her smooth back into a neutral grimace and sit back down with her empty food tray. 

That was obviously way out of line. Commonplace behaviour if this was Hell, but this was the regular land of the living. And yet, no one else in the cafeteria is reacting, not even the slightest glance over. Her human ears, however weird and strange they are, are perfectly functional and capable of hearing. So why haven’t these humans, who she’s seen be polite and compassionate, stay quiet? 

Vaggie too. The Vaggie she knows wouldn’t have stood for that sort of tone from anybody, much less some random girl. Her human eyes are perfectly able to see the simmering anger under her skin, and justified anger at that. The restraint Vaggie has is impressive, if not sad. 

Too bad Charlie doesn’t have that same restraint. 

The mystery mashed potatoes are flying across the cafeteria and into the girl’s hair before Charlie can even realize what she’s done. There’s no regret in the satisfied grin she allows to show, though. 

“What the fuck!” The girl and her friends shriek, who also fell victim to the projectile food.

“Language,” Charlie shouts right back, “I don’t think you can afford the price of  _ my  _ judgement!” 

The cafeteria is silent as it watches her. The girl tries to flick away the excess mush clumping in her hair, but to no avail. For a second Charlie thinks she might start a fight, but instead she rushes away, presumably to wash out the food. She huffs smugly at that. All talk and no bite. 

Vaggie’s slack jawed, but also acutely aware of all the eyes on her. She isn’t going to make any progress with her if they stay in the spotlight, and so Charlie makes her choice fast. She gets up, gently coaxes Vaggie out of her seat.

“I think I saw a vending machine nearby. Maybe it’ll have better food than mashed potatoes.”

* * *

Conversation is still stunted, but it’s quite obvious that Vaggie wants to say something. Charlie lets her take her time, focusing on washing away the taste of the cafeteria food with an oatmeal raisin cookie from the vending machine. 

They’re out in the back parking lot of the school, away from the stoners and other students outside, secluded in their own little corner of the cemented area. It’s quieter. Vaggie takes occasional nibbles from her bag of vegetable crisps. 

“Why did you do that?” Vaggie asks, finally. 

“Because she disrespected you,” Charlie replies. 

“I don’t understand,” Vaggie holds her eye contact for the first time, “She can do a lot of messed up stuff to you if she wants to. Her parents pull a lot of strings, y’know.”

“She won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“She won’t,” Charlie repeats again, and means it. It hasn’t left her mind that this is as much of a game as it is a test. If her thinking is correct, then the angels wouldn’t risk losing their entertainment prematurely over a little high school drama. “And even if she did, even if she’s able to, does that give her the right to treat you like shit?”

Vaggie fails to think of something to say, and Charlie lets them stew in silence again. The bag of vegetable crisps is absurdly small, and even though she’d been eating at the pace of a snail, she’s already finished it. Charlie looks down at her half eaten oatmeal cookie. 

“I don’t think throwing food back at her was right either.” Vaggie comments lamely.

“Yeah, probably.” She agrees. It was a heat of the moment decision, but still. “Next time, I’ll throw ketchup. Heard it’s the hardest to remove.”

Vaggie gapes at her. Charlie stares deadpan back. They soon dissolve into laughter, and  _ wow _ , she didn’t realize how much she had missed her genuine smile until now. 

The bell rings, and they collect their trash as they stand up. The oatmeal cookie was palate cleansing, but certainly not appetizing. It’d be bad to waste food though. She holds it out to her. 

“Want it?”

Vaggie looks at it, contemplating, before pushing it back. “Nah. I don’t like raisins.”

Charlie smiles proudly. “Of course you don’t.”

It’s small, but it’s progress. Charlie tosses it out to the birds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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